


Voices

by querxes



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Canon Era, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, mentions of experimentation, slight antisemitism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:06:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26285413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/querxes/pseuds/querxes
Summary: Davey wasn’t sure what to blame it on. Possibly it was just how much his guard had been let down by all of the different raging thoughts projected straight at the stage, maybe it was because he was tired and anxious himself.But then the leader of Brooklyn was standing right next to him on the stage, and there was no sign of Jack. As the boys cheered, both Davey and Spot surged forward to grip each other’s hands in a firm handshake.And then it all fell apart in their minds.David's gift makes things a little complicated between him and Spot Conlon.
Relationships: Spot Conlon/David Jacobs
Comments: 13
Kudos: 47





	Voices

**Author's Note:**

> Me, finally posting something again? It's more likely than you think.
> 
> Based on the prompt of "Spavey content with Davey finding out he's a mind reader," I changed it just a little bit and made it a mutant au because I'm relentless.
> 
> The word "mutant" is never used because according to X-Men canon and stuff, mutants weren't discovered until the 1960s. They technically did exist before then, but I assume their numbers had to be really small in order to keep it hidden for so long. David doesn't have much control over his powers due to not having any guidance when it comes to them, so please bear with me. He may sound a little invasive but that is due to him having no experience. He tries his best.

Spot Conlon came to the rally. He  _ actually _ came.

Davey thought he had the right to be a little surprised by it. Yes, it was true that he had sent his word through a little Brooklyn newsboy after Manhattan had been stomped into the ground after the second day of striking. It was also true that Spot had promised them himself that if Manhattan didn’t show any signs of backing down, Brooklyn would be there to back them up. But Davey didn’t really know Spot, not yet, and he wasn’t sure if they would truly be able to count on Brooklyn. It was a hope, a dream even, but it was not a guarantee. 

It was also true that Davey could’ve done a lot more than just hope about it. He could’ve found out for himself very easily. Chances are, neither Spot nor the boy he sent would have any idea about the strange feeling in their minds as Davey probed around slightly, just to find the truth. However, there were many reasons for Davey to refrain from doing it. 

One, it was invasive and wrong to utterly invade someone’s privacy in that way. Two, if anyone realized what was truly happening, if  _ anyone  _ got the right idea, Davey would be as good as dead.

Davey didn’t even really know what  _ it _ was, neither did his family. Rumors of kids like him had spread around back in Poland, where little boys suddenly set themselves ablaze with no harm to themselves and little girls with blue skin would live as experiments. They kept it very quiet, but there were horror stories that Mayer had to dig deep to find in impolite company. Years of asking the right people the right questions had given him some answers on the strange things his young son could do with his mind. 

The Jacobs had taken to calling  _ it _ a “gift.” They had nothing else to call it.

If Esther and Mayer Jacobs were different people, maybe their six year old son would have disappeared. Maybe he would’ve been left for dead somewhere. Maybe he would’ve been mentioned like the other kids in the seedy bars his father got his resources from. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

But the Jacobses were decidedly  _ not  _ those kinds of people, so instead they packed their bags and went to a land that was blissfully unaware of the truth behind the strange Jacobs boy who accidentally scared his classmates and his teachers. They moved to a land to escape the violence on their streets and the pogroms creeping up in their neighborhood. They left to escape from the reality of the boys on fire and the girls with blue skin. 

David would not end up like the boys on fire and the girls with blue skin.

In the year 1888, there were approximately one million five hundred thousand souls living in New York City. Out of all those people, the Jacobs had not heard a single word about strange, gifted children like they had back home. It was peculiar. Perhaps it was a phenomenon native to Poland or Central Europe at the very least, but the silence on the subject was almost nerve-wracking.

However, the Jacobs had not anticipated the sheer size of the classrooms to become a problem for David. Too many minds, too many thoughts, too many languages that he didn’t understand. He had no way to silence it, so he tried hard to pick out Sarah’s voice out of all the others. If he could just have Sarah’s voice, he would be okay. 

Sarah knew when David sought her out. She could feel his presence in her mind, like a wisp gently nudging at her thoughts and quietly flitting around, unable to stay still. That was how she had described it to him. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t even truly bother her, it was just...David. 

The other kids wouldn’t have really known what to look for, especially when David was actively avoiding letting himself be pulled into the lure of a million different thoughts. That being said, the curtain he tried to pull down to block out the noise didn’t cancel everything out. Chances are, his classmates and teachers wouldn’t have even realized if David just flitted by the edges of their mind, past all of their hateful thoughts that struck like snakes. 

It could get incredibly lonely, being David Jacobs.

He knew that if he truly felt like he needed it, his parents and his sister would be willing to give him permission to reach out to them using his gift. Even Les grew used to it once it was safe enough to tell him. They accepted it as part of him now, it was just the way things were. But they were his family, and he knew they would always accept him. It was different with everyone else, even with the newsies.

The newsies had truly started to become family in their own respects. It was almost painful to restrain himself from reaching out to Albert when the boy would sometimes close himself off, from reaching out to Jack when he dreamed about Santa Fe, to Crutchie and Race and Buttons and Mike and Ike and all of his friends. The newsies showed their affection through encouraging shoulder touches and hugs and hand holding and hair-ruffling, and Davey sometimes felt green with jealousy for not being able to express himself in his own ways. Their affection came so naturally to all of them, and Davey was part of that, but not in the way he truly longed to be part of. He wanted to show them his gifts, he wanted to show them that it wasn’t a bad thing, that it was more beautiful than dangerous. It was just Davey. Rather, it was Davey.

But there was always that nagging feeling of fear in the back of his mind when the words would sit on his tongue. If they didn’t believe him, he would be called crazy. If they did, they would likely be afraid of him, or they wouldn’t want to come anywhere near him in fear of their privacy being invaded. And there was always his own fear of opening up to the wrong person and being led into a trap. That could do him a lot of damage, especially considering how inexperienced he was. It was just too high of a risk on either end. 

The words would die on his tongue every single time. 

Even with all of this, Davey was doing so well.  _ So well. _ He had become incredibly good at quieting all of the voices wrapping around him, all of the straying thoughts the newsies gave off every day at the circulation gate. He hadn’t even attempted to reach out to any of their thoughts and hold on tight..

He was doing so well. 

Until he went up to shake Spot Conlon’s hand at the rally.

They had all gathered into Medda’s theatre, a good majority of the city’s newsies taking up the seats in the audience while small groups of newsies from each borough occupied the stage. It was an incredibly impressive sight, but it was also very overwhelming.

Davey wasn’t sure what to blame it on. Possibly it was just how much his guard had been let down by all of the different raging thoughts projected straight at the stage, maybe it was because he was tired and anxious himself.

But then the leader of Brooklyn was standing right next to him on the stage, and there was no sign of Jack. As the boys cheered, both Davey and Spot surged forward to grip each other’s hands in a firm handshake.

And then it all fell apart in their minds. 

It was like a door opening and letting in a gust of wind. Suddenly, all these thoughts and names and faces in Spot’s mind were all available for Davey to see. It was colors so vibrant in red and blue, it was a steadfast sense of duty for his brothers. A protectiveness, an edge to his perfectly controlled exterior that only Davey could sense. 

There was also guilt, as he stared at Davey’s face. He could feel Spot’s mind wince at the sight of Davey’s bruised temple, he heard the light breeze of **_damnit, I had no choice_** on the back of his mind. And Davey saw the look Spot gave him. The furrowed brow, the recognition of the new presence wisping around in his thoughts. Spot’s hand clenched tighter in his own.

_ A small boy in little more than rags sobbed his eyes out in Spot’s lap. The boy looked up into his eyes, and then— _

Horror clipped the back of Davey’s throat, choking him into a dreadful silence. 

He knew.  _ Spot knew. _

It would’ve taken one word from Sean Conlon to have Davey dragged to the ground, thrown out into the streets, beaten to a pulp. One word to sentence him to death, to sentence him to a lifetime of humiliation. One word to completely rip the rug out from under Davey’s feet and ruin his life.

But Davey had never connected with someone like this before, never outside of his family. It was like they had fused for those halting moments. What Davey could see from Sean, Sean could see from Davey. It didn’t feel wrong, on the contrary it felt too _ right, _ and that scared him witless. 

Spot heard the quiet, choked whisper of **_Sean,_** from the wisp in his mind. **_Please, don’t._**

**_Jesus fucking Christ. You’re—_ **

**Please.**

And then they stepped back from each other. Davey slammed the barrier down, stripping the contact perhaps a little too quickly, judging by the stagger in the last step Spot took back, by the breath that Davey had knocked from his own lungs. His head throbbed in pain. Spot wouldn’t look at him.

Then, Medda took over. It gave Davey a few moments to try and gather his scrambled thoughts together to find the right words to say.

Medda gestured to Davey. He took a breath.

“Let’s hear it for Spot Conlon and Brooklyn!”

* * *

The rest of the rally was hell.

The world blew into absolute chaos the moment Jack turned on the strike and scabbed, and it was so loud that Davey just had to  _ get out.  _ All he wanted was to crawl into a dark alley and stay there until everything faded away around him. He trusted Jack, he really had. Maybe he shouldn’t have.

There was no time to think about that anymore. He brushed himself off, adjusted his cap, and followed the small mob of kids to the Manhattan lodging house. 

* * *

Davey didn’t get a chance to talk to Spot until several weeks after the strike. 

It was their first official Union meeting between the boroughs that took place in Brooklyn, and Jack had left as soon as the meeting was adjourned so he could meet Katherine in time for their dinner date. Davey had let him go, promising that he would catch up.

While he collected his bags, he noticed Spot stand across from him out of the corner of his eye. Davey stood up straight and threw his bag over his shoulder, throwing out the words so he wouldn’t have the chance to take them back. “Can we talk?”

Spot stared back at him unflinchingly. “By all means.” He didn’t seem too thrilled, but he nodded to Hotshot, his second-in-command, and led Davey out of Brooklyn’s lodging house. 

Davey had no idea where Spot was taking them until he saw the stretch of Prospect Park approaching. They had not spoken a word to each other on the way there, and even as they stood on top of the unpopulated bridge hidden by the trees they let the silence hang over their heads.

Davey was the first one to speak. “You knew.” His voice shook, ever so slightly. “That boy I saw. You know someone who could—?” He discreetly pressed two fingers to his temple, over the healing bruise from the place the cop had hit him.

Spot’s gaze lingered on Davey’s temple, then turned his head away from him. “I knew someone.” Spot stared out across the water, hands clasped in front of him as he leaned up against the bridge. “Vanished one day. Dunno what happened to him.”

“Oh.” Davey tried to rein in the disappointment in his tone. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well. That kinda shit happens all the time. It’s not a death sentence, he might’a just...” Spot closed his eyes. “Took off. Who knows anymore.”

“I thought I was the only one.” David shook his head incredulously. “Well, I had heard rumors a long time ago. Haven’t heard a word since we left home.”

“Where’s home?”

“Poland.”

“Ah.” Spot tilted his head. “Cards was from Japan. He didn’t know where it came from, either.” He paused, glancing over at Davey. “Who else knows?”

Davey shuffled his foot against the wall of the bridge. “No one, except for family. You’re the first who ever realized what I was doing.”

“Can you control it?”

Davey snorted, letting out a huff of air. “Hardly. No one to teach me, no one to practice on,” he looked down at his feet. “I’m sorry, for what happened at the rally, I promise I won’t do it again—”

“Did I say I didn’t want ya to do it again?” Spot spoke a little brashly at first, then reined himself in, realizing how it sounded. “Don’t sweat it too much, kid. You can’t control it. I ain’t gonna ask ya to do the impossible.”

“Oh,” Davey sighed, surprised by the reaction. “Really? I don’t want to invade your privacy.”

“Listen, you’s the last person I’d worry about invadin’ my privacy,” Spot rolled his eyes, his lips quirking up at the corners. “‘Sides, you probably see things different from the rest of us. Cards would—” He stilled, then coughed slightly. “Uh, it was like an open-door policy with him. He hated being out of the loop. You probably feel the same way, I guess.”

Davey didn’t know how to answer, so he simply nodded his head. The thoughts toward the edge of Spot’s mind were quiet, muffled by the curtain Davey had drawn over them. Davey gathered up the sides of the curtain, waiting to pull them back.

“You sure about this?” Davey asked one last time.

Spot rolled his eyes. “I mean, we already got through the first step at the rally.  _ Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, _ Jacobs, just do it!”

Davey pulled back the curtain, and a flood of thoughts crossed between them. It was nothing like the spectacular connection made at the rally, but it was completely open and entirely freeing. Davey revelled in the feeling of allowing himself to be completely open with someone who trusted him enough to allow it in return.

Davey felt the knot in his chest unfurl, allowing him to breathe freely. “Thank you, Spot,” Davey laughed, his heart feeling lighter in his chest.

There was a feeling Davey couldn’t describe that was radiating from Spot. It took several moments for the other boy to piece together the right words.

**_Sean. You called me Sean at the rally._ **

Davey’s eyes widened in surprise, then he let a content smile spread across his face.

“Sean.”  **_Thank you, truly._ **

_Spot’s—_ Sean’s _thoughts flickered to the small boy in rags. Cards, he called him. Cards was smiling widely, hand gripped tightly in Sean’s hand as he skipped next to him. There was a warm feeling of protectiveness and nostalgia resting in his chest._ **_Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it. You’re welcome._**

For the first time in a long while, Davey truly did feel welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments, I love hearing from you guys!
> 
> Also feel free to come yell at me on tumblr @thetruthabouttheboy or my main @querxes!


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